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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26265013">Speak Just For Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubrikate/pseuds/rubrikate'>rubrikate</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fallout: New Vegas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, Discussions of Morality, F/M, Religion, asking hard questions, post-apoc typical violence, receiving hard answers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:48:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,546</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26265013</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubrikate/pseuds/rubrikate</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Courier and Joshua Graham exchange a series of letters post-Honest Hearts</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Courier/Joshua Graham</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>     When it was night on the Strip in New Vegas, well, it wasn’t ever <em> really </em> night: there were always too many lights. Too much noise. Too many people. Nothing stopped moving for a second. The buildings were a poor substitute for real mountains, or so the Courier thought, sitting alone at the top of the Lucky 38 tower, surveying all she could see. It was dark in the penthouse, dark and quiet and solitary. The only real sounds were the gentle beeps of ED-E floating idly nearby. She sat with legs pulled up to her chest, her back pressed firmly against the orange chair she was seated in. Her chin rested on the top of her knee. Her eyes stared out over New Vegas and beyond, out into the darkness of the Mojave. Clutched in her left hand was an unread letter, folded up on itself into a perfectly neat and clean envelope. </p><p>     Finally, she stood up and placed the letter on the coffee table in front of her, only to turn around and walk into the large empty room which led to the kitchen; ED-E following dutifully along behind her. The room was darkened and empty but soon opened up into a spacious kitchen with all the best appliances and gadgets, complete with an island counter top. She dragged her fingers across it as she walked by, remembering the first time she’d seen it and how amazed she was. <em> Never seen a kitchen like this before</em>, she thought to herself as she padded over to the refrigerator where she quickly opened the door and pulled out a bottle of purified water, allowing the door to slam shut behind her. She stood in front of the large windows, always overlooking New Vegas. She leaned forward, pushing her forehead against the glass, her hand clutching the still closed bottle of water. She let out a sigh. </p><p>     “Should I answer it?” she asked out loud. “Should I write back, ED?” Turning her head to the left she spotted the robot floating next to her; it beeped warmly. She flashed a lazy smile. “Yeah, you would say that, wouldn’t you? Come on, I guess.” She pulled herself away from the glass and began to walk through the darkened penthouse, back to her chair by the coffee table. As she went, she reached for lamps and turned one on in every room, as though she were attempting to banish the darkness she’d been sitting in all evening. She bent down and scooped the letter up into her hands and turned around, walking up the stairs to the bedroom. “We’re going to use the desk. For the first time.” She chuckled at her own sarcastic comment; ED-E beeped jubilantly. Though, whether the robot thought that was funny or not was a different story. </p><p>     They both went upstairs, and as they went, she turned on lights. With each step, a new light came to life, effectively lighting her path as she went. Walking into the bedroom, she grimaced at the sight of the bed. “I hate how it's just <em> here.</em> In the middle of the room.” She gestured to it with her right hand, still clutching the water bottle, the plastic crinkling as she did so. ED behind her bobbed up and down and beeped gently. “Yeah, yeah, I can move it later, it’s just sticking out in the middle of everything. Drives me fucking crazy.” She said that last part under her breath as she reached for another floor lamp, pulling on the string and turning on the bulbs, which glowed warmly behind their shade. She walked past the bed and through the strange maze of couches that the previous owner, Mr. House, had for some unearthly reason placed there. She grumbled to herself, making a mental note to have them all thrown out. She arrived at the desk in the far corner of the room. It was an ugly, heartless metal thing. She pushed the computer off to the side further and pulled the chair out. She placed the letter down gently on the desk and flopped into the chair, pulling her legs up and crossing them as she did so. Pulling on drawer after drawer, she looked for a pen and some paper. After finally digging through three drawers she found printing paper in the bottom, and a pen was found in the center tray. </p><p>     Her vision stuck on the unopened letter in front of her. She took one more sip from her water bottle before placing the cap back on and sitting it down noiselessly on the desk. She picked up the letter in her hands, turning it over this way and that way as she began to open it. She unfolded it gently from the way its author had folded it up onto itself, making a perfect envelope out of its own paper. The softest smile graced her features as she did that. <em> He must not have access to envelopes in that valley, </em>she thought to herself, a smile on her lips. Picking up the letter she began to read it. Her eyes scanned line after line, and she found herself transfixed on it; on what he said; his handwriting; the image of him speaking these words to her, instead of simply writing them on paper. But he’d had a lot to say, and in the end, it had taken her almost fifteen minutes to read the entire thing. </p><p>     Finally, she placed it down on the desk and grabbed the pile of paper to her left and the pen she’d picked up and pulled the cap off, shaking the cylinder and allowing the ink to move inside. She ran the tip of the fountain pen on a stray piece of blank paper for a moment, trying to get the ink going. She sat and stared at the blank paper for some time, trying to figure out how to start it.  She looked up at ED-E as he bobbed politely and quietly in front of her, and her mouth hung open for a fraction of a second before she spoke. “Do you think this is a good idea? I mean, I could leave it, you know? I could...I could just not reply to him. He would...he would disappear. I guess.” Her words were soft and gentle. ED-E simply beeped, as it always did. She sat back in her chair, huffing out a sigh through her nose, and when she spoke, it was more to herself; more a harsh whisper than anything. “I can’t leave it though.” She leaned forward and began to put her pen to the paper, scratching it out a few times, only to start over again with more in mind of what she wanted to say. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dear Joshua,  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I got your letter....obviously. Your welcome for my help even if i did kinda just fall into it. Thank you for upholding your end of the bargain and showing me the way out of the valley. I appreciate that i do. It would have been easy for you all to trap me there and you didn’t so thank you for that. So if you get this letter guess it means i got home ok huh? It took about a week and maybe a day. Ran into 1 sandstorm after getting to the lip of the valley, just as I entered the mojave again. No big deal though just hunkered down in that cave entrance and waited it out. Sat there for a long time. Waiting. After the storm died down I was able to get back into the mojave. It was the same as ever on the way back. Raiders, some settlers, mole rats, whatever. It’s not anything i couldn't handle. I got back in one piece and here i am writing you back. I wasn’t sure what to say if im being honest. I thought about it for a long time but I have questions and you have answers, so here we go I guess. But...i can’t lie, I’m conflicted, i had some reservations about sending any kind of letter back to you. I wasn’t sure if i wanted to continue communicating with the great and terrible Malpais Legate. If i was even communicating with HIM at all or maybe a shadow of him. I’ve been thinking about what you said when i was in Zion, about your time in the Legion. About what you did. I thought about it all. The whole way home. Seemingly every waking moment i thought about it. I thought about why. Why you did what you did. You said it was a series of small steps that lead you down that path but...i don't see how that could happen. I wish i could see it. I’m willing to hear you out. Well i want to hear you out. I want to see the steps you took. I hope that's not too forward. It’s just that if there’s anything i learned from my dad, it's that. Well, that and how to clean and maintain a combat shotgun and to not talk to everyone i see or meet. But those are probably more common lessons. I’ll try to send this as soon as possible so you can get it faster. I’ll send it with the next caravan though, i promise.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> -Rae  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>     She looked down at the letter. It was concise, neat, orderly, perhaps a bit emotional. But she was emotional. She’d met the Burned Man and lived to tell about it, not that she would tell anyone where he was; despite Caesar being dead. She had spoken to Joshua Graham for weeks on end every day and most nights. She did want to hear him out about his past, about the Legion, his life: him. But she couldn't pinpoint why, and so she pushed the thought away, far to the back of her mind. Then she began to open another drawer in the desk, looking for envelopes. Finding a large box of them, she pulled one out and laid it on the desk and began to write on the front: JG, Zion Canyon. Folding the paper up into three sections, she shoved it into the envelope. Instead of licking the two hundred year old adhesive, she simply used a light smear of wonder glue on the edges and sealed it shut that way. </p><p>     Staring down at it now, it seemed such a small thing. She picked it up and moved it around in her hands. Noticing the way the scars on her knuckles seemed to creak and crack with the movements of her hands, the way the light in the room bounced off of the shiny skin there. She sighed, laying the envelope back down on the desk, staring at the address on the front. </p><p>     “Should I do this?” she whispered to no one in particular, but ED-E beeped approvingly. She looked up at the robot, her muddied, tired green eyes focusing on it for a moment before she sat back in her chair, sighing. “I have to. I have to hear him out.” She laid her hand on the envelope as she spoke. “I don't know why. Maybe it's the Code speaking. Maybe it's just...decency. He did save my life after the caravan was slaughtered, after all.” She went silent for a long time. Her vision glued to the envelope in front of her. Her mind racing: <em> he was the Legate; he was the one who was brutal even by Legion standards. </em>She ran a hand down her face as the thoughts raced through her mind. Finally, she looked up, and her gaze fell on a wholly other object: her father's Lincoln Repeater. His most cherished item, of course, right after her; as he’d always said. A soft smile spread across her face, and she found herself tapping her fingers gently onto the envelope, her head nodding as she did so. </p><p>     “That's it then. It's the Code. I have to send this letter. I have to hear him out.” She nodded her head resolutely and firmly, devout in her decision to mail the letter with an outgoing caravan in the morning. She leaned forward and pulled the string on the lamp on the desk, plunging the room into a soft darkness, the other lights in the room and the hallway making a soft ambient glow in the room. Rae got up and walked over to the large plate glass window, overlooking New Vegas. Her eyes wandered from the ever-busy Strip and landed on the far north, buffered by the mountains. She knew it was there: Zion. Just beyond her visual grasp. But really, she knew <em> he </em> was there in Zion, waiting. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>     The night seemed to cradle the canyon against it somehow. As though it were being embraced by the vast blue-hued overhead blanket of shining stars. The rocks of the canyon seemed to glow in the star light; a dark red color of the earth rarely ever seen except in moments like this one. Mostly everyone else was asleep; the campfire was burning low. In the distance, he could see several tribe members standing guard, still vigilant despite the danger having passed. <em> Though, to be fair, we never really know</em>, he thought to himself as he turned away, back into the cave behind him. He walked through the main entrance and past several people sleeping. He was careful not to wake them. His footsteps were light and swift, and he was gone as soon as he had appeared, back to his personal quarters, by his own fire and bed along the far stone wall. It was darker than usual in the cave, the only real light pouring forth was from the fire. He had snuffed out the torches hours ago, instead preferring the safety of the dark for what he was about to do. </p><p>     He sat on a crudely-constructed bench by the fire, his eyes catching the light of the flames in front of him. He sat perfectly straight; his hands folded neatly in his lap, his eyes squinted sharply in front of him, glaring at what he did not know. Finally, he sighed and unzipped his flak jacket, just enough to snake his hand in and pull out a beaten-up envelope. It was discolored and dirty. The edges were frayed, and if he was being very honest, he’d say the caravaner who’d delivered this item certainly had not taken very good care of it. To which he was very disappointed. He stared at the envelope in his hands. Looking at the scrawl on the front. Remembering the way that the caravan guard had yelled his initials during the delivery.</p><p>     “JG? Who’s JG in Zion Canyon?” The caravaner’s voice had echoed out, and it caught Joshua’s attention as Joshua hadn’t been expecting a reply. His eyes scanned the envelope, and his bandaged hands turned it this way and that, lingering over her handwriting on the outside of it a bit too long with permanently-singed fingertips. Finally, he cleared his throat and began to open it, pulling at the adhesive. He tried to keep it from ripping, only to realize that the actual letter was encased in a real envelope. He smirked behind his bandages, laying the letter out on his lap as he whispered to himself, “A real envelope, what a marvel.” He chuckled lightly under his breath as he looked up from the letter. He stared down the dark expanse of the cavern, squinting; evaluating. Finally, he picked the letter up and examined it. </p><p>     He noticed the way her spelling was wrong and, in some places, the grammar as well. He felt the tug of a smile at the corners of his mouth. Her handwriting was cumbersome and small and didn’t flow very well, but he could read it clear enough. <em> I always forget how it is growing up in the waste, </em>he thought to himself, remembering his own childhood for a brief moment; how he’d had a teacher and a community and a classroom. Something now forgotten by the human race. </p><p>     He read the letter two times through. The second time he sighed as he stood up, his knees cracking slightly as he did. He winced, just as he walked over to the desk on the big rock in the center of the room. Pulling out his chair, he sat down and began to rifle around in one of the drawers for a pencil. He didn’t need to search for too long. After all, he knew exactly where he’d left it last, and he pulled it out of the front drawer with ease. Reaching down to his right, he pulled out a slip of paper, though it was not of the same quality of which Rae had sent her letter on—but it was paper nonetheless. Pulling out two sheets, one for an envelope and one for the letter, he laid them both out on his desk and stared at them, his vision bouncing between the letter she had sent and the blank paper that was expecting his response. He leaned back in his chair, his hands flopping into his lap for a moment; defeated, almost. He only allowed the feeling to stay for a moment, allowing a fleeting glimmer of loneliness to flicker over him before sitting back up and grabbing the pencil. He paused for just a moment as he pushed the pencil to the paper, the graphite gently leaving its mark in verbose, looping, beautiful cursive. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dear Rae,  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      I must say I did not expect a reply. I sent the letter expecting it to arrive at its destination, and then that would be all. As always, if you ever wish to end this correspondence, please, by all means, feel free to do so. I am relieved that you arrived at your destination safely, despite the mole rats. Ah yes, Legate. Something told me this conversation may arise. I will allow you to decide if you are communicating with the Legate or the shadow or the man. I cannot judge that properly, and so I’ll leave that decision to you. I understand why you would feel conflicted, especially considering what I shared with you while you stayed with us. My time in the Legion is not something I look back on fondly or with any measure of pride.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Yes, it was a series of small steps, as I said several times. We, Edward and I, it was always the two of us planning out ahead, scouting the road into Hell. Though, at the time, we didn’t know where the road led. Looking back now, I should have seen the warning signs, but that's neither here nor there, I suppose. We wanted to unify the tribes under one banner, one goal, and one organized leadership system. But I already told you all of that. That was the initial outset plan. Well, that was the plan after we almost died at the hands of the Blackfoots. Afterward, Edward insisted we do things his way. The plan was to create one out of many. I won’t lie to you, though: I’m still unsure where the initial plan to survive turned into what it did. Edward wanted to live; not be held ransom by the Blackfoots. That's why we ended up teaching them how to shoot, how to defend themselves. But, unfortunately, it seemed after one victory, Edward had gotten a taste of something he greatly enjoyed. Though, to this day, I cannot tell you exactly what it was.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Bill Calhoun was a good man. It was Edward who would get us into trouble down the road. Bill’s suggestions were ignored by the group, and subsequently, Edward’s suggestions were taken up. And there we were, teaching the Blackfoots how to maintain and shoot guns and how to reload properly and efficiently; not to mention, teaching them what it meant to go to war. Real war. Where everyone dies, somehow. Edward impressed the Blackfoots with his knowledge and his willingness to help them. It was at that point that he was made acting war chief. I do not know if it was the taste of power for Edward, but after that, he wasn’t ever really the same. Or maybe he had finally become what he was always meant to be. That was the beginning. That was where we started to walk down the path to Hell, and we didn’t even know it.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      I have some questions of my own, if you don't mind? You said your father taught you how to maintain your weapon, and while you were with us here, you told me he was a caravan guard. Did he work for the Happy Trails caravan company? Or another one? Your accent always made me wonder if you were from the Mojave or somewhere else. Further east, perhaps? Before you left, I had wondered what drew you into being a courier. That's a dangerous line of work, if truth were to be told. You also shared that your father was the one who taught you to read and write. As you can imagine, that raises some questions for me. Usually, a caravan guard is not well-versed enough in reading or writing to be able to teach another. They know just enough to accept a contract, caps, and sign their name. Where did he learn to read and write to the level of proficiency that he could teach another? That is a very rare skill in the wasteland, and it begs a lot of questions.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> May the Lord bless and keep you, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> -Joshua  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>     He folded the spare piece of paper in front of him into a substitute envelope and slipped the letter inside. On the outside of the envelope he wrote, “Rae, Courier: Lucky 38 Casino, New Vegas Strip”. Turning the envelope over carefully, he folded the back together so that he didn’t need adhesive and the paper held itself together perfectly well. Then he leaned back in his chair, his hands hanging loosely in between his thighs. The sounds of the cave were louder than usual: the fire crackled, and his sigh seemed to echo off the stone. He ran his tongue over his teeth as he thought to himself. Distantly, the sounds of two people laughing at something one of them had said could be heard from the lower portion of the cave. His eyes flicked up at the noise and he scowled. Though, in truth, he knew they didn’t deserve that. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>     Night had descended on the Strip hours ago, swathing everything outside of the walls around the city in darkness. In the penthouse of the Lucky 38 casino, Rae sat in the desk chair. It was swiveled around so it faced north—towards Zion. Her back was to the letter laid out on the desk behind her and her gaze lingered ahead on the ridge of mountains that ran as far as the eye could. ED-E hovered nearby, beeping gently in the dimly lit room. Rae sighed as she reached her arms up above her head and stretched into the air, like a cat getting up from a late afternoon nap. Her arms flopped down into her lap, her abysmally dark green sweatshirt she had found in an old pre-war building showing its wear by giving the gentlest of ripping sounds at the stitches. She didn’t seem to notice as she swiveled her chair around to the desk surface. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>     The only light on in the room was that of the desk lamp in front of her and a floor lamp in the far corner. It wasn’t the worst she’d ever had, and she acknowledged that. She leaned forward, her elbows sliding slightly on the surface of the metal desk. She drew in a slow, long breath through her nose and then let it out of her mouth. She’d read the letter several times and was no longer debating replying. But now she had to debate on what to say. She picked up the pen and fidgeted with it in her hands, flicking it this way and that, tapping the end on the desk as she bit the inside of her mouth in thought. Finally, she leaned back in her seat, holding the pen up in front of her as she spoke aloud. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>     “I don’t know, ED.” The robot beeped. “I don’t know. His letter sounds an awful lot like he really was handed a situation, but still. It’s bad. It’s horrible. Everything he did...it’s...everything I was taught not to do.” Her voice dropped an octave. Her mouth hung open gently as she tinkered with her tongue against her teeth, thinking. She leaned forward but, this time, jumped out of her seat and began to pace the room with steady measured footsteps. Her hands fidgeting with the pen. “I’m not excusing him or what he did,” she said firmly as she paced past her desk once more. “But I want to know, you know? I wanna know why and how!” She said it with a slight laugh in her voice. She stopped in front of the large plate glass window and put her fingertips against it. Her eyes cast down onto the people below, watching them for a moment; a moment that was perhaps too long. She sighed again, this time her eyes closed. “I just want to know if...the path he walked to get to that point is the same path </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll </span>
  </em>
  <span>walk one day. ‘Into Hell,’ like he said. Maybe if I see it and recognize it...I won’t walk down that path, you know?” ED-E beeped. Rae smiled, a soft laugh huffed out from between her lips. She opened her eyes and pulled her hand away from the glass. “Okay, I know what I want to say.” She turned around on her heel and flopped down into the desk chair. She reached for the pen and the paper and sucked in a breath, her mouth becoming a thin straight line as she started to write.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Joshua,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Im going to answer your questions 1st because its easier for me this way. My dad never worked for happy trails caravan company. He was an independent guy and sold his services to...well...the highest bidder. you are right. my accent is not from the mojave. I'm from out east, the capital wasteland. When i was a kid my dad got hired by some really rich guy who needed muscle to get him and his family out here. I was a little kid. I dont remember much of where we lived back east or even coming out here. My dad was a caravan guard for as long as i can remember. It really did shape who i am. He taught me how to clean weapons, use them, look for danger, know that not everyone is bad but...well...most of them are. That its better to put someone down with a bullet then to let yourself be put down. He taught me how to survive. Reading and writing was a part of that survival skill set. My dad could read really well. Much better then most people ive encountered. Looking at your letter now i can see how bad mine are written. Im sorry about that. I never had any...formal anything i guess. My dad did though. He had been taught to read and write by someone else. Not by his parents. they died a long time before me. Ill try to shape my letters like yours so its not hard to read for you. I never was good at book learning. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I ended up being a courier out of necessity i guess. I knew i could get a job with a caravan company. I had the skills and i had the guns and experience from growing up with my dad. I knew i could go the other way and get a job with...my body...somewhere. But i couldn't make myself do that. My dad died and i had nothing and no one. So i packed everything i could carry and i headed to the mojave express office in freeside, in new vegas. They kind of just gave me a job. That was two years ago. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So thats how i fell into this. Not alot of steps. Just alot of necessity. In all honestly i wasnt sure i would reply to your 1st letter. But i felt like it was wrong to...throw it away like that. I really want to understand your side of the story. I hear everything you know? I hear all kinds of shit from all kinds of people all over the wasteland. I hear rumors and whispers and all kinds of bullshit. I guess i wanted to know from the man himself. Not the legate or the burned man, but you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What was Bill Calhouns suggestion? Why did everyone side with caesar? Uh...edward? I dont know what i should call him. Please tell me if youd like one or the other. How long did it take? I mean, how long did it take for you to realize that you had walked into hell with him? What was the tipping point where you knew something was wrong? Did you even have one? I feel like i should be angry at you and hate you or i should have killed you when i was in zion but i just...i dont know what to think i guess. You said that you both wanted to unify everyone under one banner and into one tribe but why do it like you did? Was that all edward too? Werent you second in command? Didnt you have a say? I just dont understand how all of those fucking horrible things the legion did and is still doing….are things you let happen. How did you let that happen? What went so wrong? Didnt you ever say, maybe we shouldnt do this? I thought you were a man with a god. I think theres more to this story and i dont think anyone really knows the truth. Maybe not even you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ill understand if you dont reply to this. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>-Rae </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>     She leaned back in her chair and stared at the letter. Her tongue running over her teeth. She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t sad. She wanted answers, and yet, she had none. “Fucking great,” she whispered, “now I have more questions than I started with.” She shook her head, laying the pen down on her desk as she began to meticulously fold the letter up in three sections. Gently, she pushed it into the envelope she’d had laying out and then flipped it over. Writing the name and the destination on the front. She looked at it then, as though she were looking at it for the first time. She allowed it to slip from her grasp just enough to be able to tap the sharp edge of it against the metal surface of the desk. The sound echoed throughout the cold penthouse suite. ED-E simply hovered nearby; waiting. Finally, she picked the letter up and turned around to the plate glass windows behind her. She held the letter against the glass. By the bright lights from below, she could sort of see through the envelope and see the shape of the paper inside as she pushed the envelope to the glass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>     She sighed, letting a tired smile across her face as she thought back to what her father had said about hearing people out but also about not heeding every word every person said. His gravelly, reassuring, smoke-riddled voice echoed in her ears, and she closed her eyes for a moment, swearing she could hear him as though he were in the room with her, </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Everything is a two-way road. There’s always two sides to every story that comes out of every person's mouth. Don’t ever think the root of the truth would ever grow on the surface of something—it's always underneath layer after layer of shit.’</span>
  </em>
  <span> She opened her eyes. Halfway expecting him to be standing there with his cigarette hanging out of his mouth; the smoke curling around him as though he belonged to it, and not the other way around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>     When she remembered that she was alone, she pushed her forehead to the window again, feeling the cold glass against her now flushed skin as hot, heavy tears rolled down her cheeks. She pulled her hands up to her eyes and covered them with the cuffs of her sweatshirt, leaving large wet splotches on the fabric. In her grief, she had forgotten everything she was doing and was soon crumpled up in a heap on the floor, her cheeks reddened with tear streaks; the letter to Joshua Graham had gently floated to the floor, forgotten for the time being. </span>
</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Four</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>     The night descended as it usually did: in various hues and colors until finally, it settled on a deep dark blue. The stars above painted a wonderful scene for all those lying below. Many of the tribe members were asleep, but still, some kept their vigil over the others. The quiet sounds of chatter could be heard in small pockets of the camp coupled with the crackling of fires, but for the most part, the valley was still. </p><p>     He flipped the envelope over in his hands. Shifting it from his left to his right over and over again. It was another perfect envelope, albeit a little dirty. He’d been waiting all day to open it; having received it that afternoon from the caravan company driver. He’d simply stuffed it into the back pocket of his jeans and waited. He was good at waiting. He squinted at the letter in his hands and amended his thoughts:<em> No, I was never good at it; but I got better</em>. He laid the envelope down on the table in front of him and got up, beginning to pace the room. He had a usual track over the stones on the floor that he followed when he paced, his hands clasped behind his back and his head bent. He glared at the ground as though it had committed some crime. He shook his head and found himself glancing up towards his table, to the letter. His blue eyes narrowed for a sliver of a moment before he took a few slow steps forward, back towards the table. His steps were measured, his eyes glued to the white envelope. He took no time at all to gather paper and a pen and walked up to the table once again. He sat in the chair with some maneuvering and grimaces, letting out a breath he’d been holding once he got comfortable. Reaching for the envelope, he turned it over in his hand once more and opened the back. <em> A real envelope again</em>, he thought to himself; a smile tugging at his mouth behind the bandages. Laying the letter out onto the table, he smoothed it down with his hands. He read through it twice, and without missing a beat, he immediately picked up his pen and started a response. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dear Rae,  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Then I shall answer your questions last, not because it is easier for me, but because in order to answer them, I will need some time. I have never been to the Capital Wasteland, but I have heard of it. I must say that I am impressed that you were able to get all the way out to the Mojave from there. That must have taken a very long time. It must have been very dangerous for your father to be bringing along a family. I cannot imagine that. Having to walk that far in that much danger; that's a large risk. Where did he learn to read, if I may ask? That's a rare thing in this day and age. Meeting a caravan guard who can read is not something I can say I've ever done.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      My own father taught me much of the same. Really just how to protect myself and my family. He taught my brothers and sisters as well. He taught us all that. My father used to joke that we had learned to shoot before we could walk. I think of him often when reading your letters, actually. I remember how much my mother hated that joke.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      I take it your father's parents were not part of his life at all? Why was that, if you even know? If you do not wish to divulge that family secret, I understand that decision. Do you like being a courier? It is a very dangerous line of work, and I do hope you'll be safe out in the Mojave.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      Now, on to your queries: Everyone sided with Edward because Bill's suggestion was not as much of a guarantee of survival as Edward's. I would appreciate it if you referred to him as Caesar. I only make this request because he was always Edward to me and he was always Caesar to you, which makes for an excellent delineation between the two. I hope you understand why I make this request and know that the Edward of whom I speak is not the same man as Caesar who sits on a false throne.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      But I digress; the road to Hell took a long time to see, in truth. At first, it was simple translations and showing the Blackfoots how to arm themselves and fight a real war; one where they wouldn’t all come out dead. I know what the tipping point was, and I am not ready to speak about that yet, but I will when the time is right. You have every right to be angry at me and to hate me and revile me in every way for what I did. Rather, I probably deserve your hate and ridicule. But I do appreciate you asking me about my side of the story, though I had not set out to do those things. No one ever does. It had started as simple tasks to get out of a troublesome spot, and it ended in misery and agony for so many over a period of thirty years.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      We did want to unify everyone under one banner; under one tribe. Make everyone have ONE identity, so that everyone could be unified: one culture, one language, one society. After 200 years, humanity could have a society again. But then those small, simple steps into Hell began making themselves known. Edward kept harping on the Roman dream. He wanted us to be like them in every way, it seemed. At first, it wasn’t a problem. It made sense. But then as time went on, the things he came up with; the things he read about; the things he wanted to do, they continued to take a more violent and drastic curve. But I didn’t see it. I was blinded by something else that I am not quite ready to speak about yet, either.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      I did have a say, but by the time I realized I should say something, we were already neck- deep. Even by that point, if I had said anything, I doubt Edward would have listened. Sometimes I look back on it and think it was just that I had been desensitized after all those years of horror and bloodshed and mindlessly following Edward wherever he wanted to go. Doing whatever deeds he needed me to do. I know why I did it. I did it willingly. But that is another story for another time.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>      I am still a man of God. But during my time in the Legion, I did not have a god. Edward was my god, and I was willing to follow him to Hell and back. I shouldn’t have been, but I was and I did and I can’t hide from that truth. I know why I followed Edward, but again, that is another story for another day. Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I don’t know the whole story; perhaps I never will. I thank you for writing to me, Courier Rae, and, once again, I will understand if you do not reply to this.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> May the Lord bless and keep you,  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> -Joshua </em>
</p><p> </p><p>     He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his right hand with his left. The muscles ached and the skin burned from holding a pencil for so long. Begrudgingly, he stretched his legs out, listening as his knees cracked as he did so. Inwardly, he cursed Edward. Cursed him for everything he’d done. But his rage was quelled as he stared at Rae’s letter, knowing there were still good people in the world—including this young woman who, admittedly, had been a great help to him and Daniel. For a long, unexpected moment, he felt a pang of guilt and regret at how they had both lied to her about the way out of Zion Canyon. He sighed and began to fold the letter up into a compact square, only to turn to another piece of paper and fold it into a makeshift envelope. He wrote her name on the front in clear, plain block letters. Then laid the envelope onto the table, putting his pen away as he did so. The cave was silent, all except for the distant noise of a crackling fire and a far off sound of hushed, whispering laughter. Joshua leaned further back into his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He pulled his legs in, his shoes scuffing the ground as he did so. </p><p>     Idly, he wondered if what he was doing was a mistake; wondering if he was revealing too much. After all, Rae had been summoned by Caesar himself. <em> No, Edward summoned her, </em>she had told him that much anyway. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, a rare smile finding its way across his bandaged features. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Five</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>     “Shame,” Rae said as she sat down on the roof of the Lucky 38. Her rum and Nuka was mixed well and poured carefully back into the Nuka Cola bottle. Rae took a swig from it and gently placed the glass bottle down onto the roof with the slightest tap. “I thought the lights would be brighter from here,” she said to no one in particular. (ED-E was downstairs in the penthouse waiting and surely no one was on the roof with her.) She took another swig of her drink, placing the bottle between her crossed legs when she was finished. She leaned back onto the palms of her hands and surveyed the glowing buildings below. The people were much too small, the buildings weren’t nearly as tall as they seemed from below, and the distant mountains behind them only served as a larger and grander backdrop to the northern passageway. Rae sighed through her nose. She sat up, readjusting, then dipped her hand into her jacket. She pulled out two bullets, a pack of bubblegum, a lighter, and the letter from Joshua. </p><p>     She turned the envelope over and over in her hands. Furrowing her brow in thought, she let her hands drop to her lap instead. She pursed her lips, her gaze lingering on the envelope, which was neatly folded from a regular piece of paper. Her face softened, and she relaxed her shoulders. Her fingertips tightened on the envelope before she nodded her head in resolve and began to rip it open. Holding the letter with two hands now, she read it through once and then once more. Her eyes bounced this way and that as she thought of what to reply to first, racking her brain. Then she slowed. Her hands dropped to her lap once more, and she let out a breath she’d been holding as she spoke—again, to no one in particular: “I didn’t expect him to...write back after that last one.” Her hair was caught by the wind as she spoke; the night air whipped it at her face. Being that high up, it stung and burned. She shoved the letter into her pocket, grabbed her drink, pulled her jacket around herself, and disappeared down the maintenance hatch back into the penthouse suite. </p><p>     It was dark inside. The only light was the one on the desk in her room. The dirty yellow light was just enough to operate in and still be able to see everything. She took her jacket off and tossed it over the back of a chair. She took her boots off; undoing the laces first and then pulled on the heel, allowing the heavy NCR boots to fall to the floor. She walked to the desk and plopped down into the chair, her drink still clutched carefully in her hand. Finally, she placed the drink on her desk as she slid the letter from Joshua Graham out of her pocket and laid it open on the desk. She thought about what she’d say. She knew she would have to dance around one question in particular and hope he didn’t notice, or maybe simply took the hint at her silence. She sighed and downed her drink in one swig; only to directly throw the bottle into the garbage just after that. She leaned down to her left and got out the paper and an envelope. Her pen laid on the surface of the desk—she grabbed it and allowed the tip to hover just over the paper before she took a deep breath and set to work. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em> Dear Joshua,  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I dont remember much of the journey out here. I was a little kid. Still riding on my dads shoulders. my dad learned how to read from the man who found him. then he taught me how to read when i was growing up. my fathers parents weren’t part of his life, no. They had been killed by raiders when he was a kid. He was raised by someone else. someone who kind of took him in. I dont mind talking about my family and there past and my past. theres no family secret. it just is what it is i guess. I do like being a courier. Well i did I think. my memories are jumpy tho I remember signing up for the job and i remember doing some of the jobs and i remember walking? but beyond that everything else is a blur and i dont know if its because i was grieving my dad when i was a courier or if its from the gun shot. All i know is that everything is in patches and the more i talk about it the more it seems to come back and it comes back stronger too which is weird but it also makes sense i guess. Dont worry about me ill be fine in the mojave. I can handle it.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Before we pick this apart i wanted to ask because you said that Edward is not the same man as Caesar. What was he like before he was Caesar? What were you like? I understand taking one step forward only to have it all come spiraling down around you tho. I get that. ive been there. That was what happened when i went to go find Benny and get revenge. I didnt know what would happen when i got the platinum chip. All the trouble it would cause. All the agony. I actually dont hate you or revile you. whatever that means. I do understand that you didnt set out to do it but i am so curious about how it happened. thats all.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> What was the point of the ‘roman dream’ where you started to lose faith in Caesar or his plan? Did you at any time? Or did you just keep going forward without questioning him? This might be too much information and it might be rude but i do want to say that i wonder when he stopped being Edward and started being Caesar for you too?  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You say you didnt have a god when you were in the legion. Why? Did you walk away from him? Did you have to shake your religion to be able to fit into Caesars vision of the legion? Were you asked to compromise on that? I imagine having slaves might go against an all loving and all knowing creators wishes. I dont have a god, like i told you in zion. I dont know if i can believe in anything else other than people. But yeah maybe neither of us will ever know the whole story. But i want to try and figure it out or at least look at it. if youll let me. if not thats okay too.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> your very welcome for writing to you Joshua Graham.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> -Rae </em>
</p><p> </p><p>     She put her pen down and looked at the letter in front of her. She rubbed her face with the palm of her hand, pushing her hair out of her eyes. Her fingertips found her eyes and applied slight pressure; she watched those colors and shapes behind her eyes for a long moment before she stopped and let her hands fall into her lap. She sighed and swiveled in her chair, turning to face the window. Standing up, she walked over to the thick plate glass and pushed her forehead against it, though, not for the last time. The glass was cold against her hot skin, and she sighed once more, relaxing against it. She stood there for a long time, watching the lights twinkling below her. The people moving from one casino to another: drunk, hanging off of each other, and stumbling down the Strip; laughing. </p><p>     She couldn’t laugh though. Something in her wanted her to go back to Zion; it was some deep seated heavy emotion, pounding hard in her chest, pushing her back towards Zion. And as that thought dawned on her, she found her eyes slipping upwards and losing themselves in the distance, looking towards the Northern Passage to Zion. She shook her head, casting her gaze down to the floor, and bit her lip. “No, no, no, he said I was welcome anytime, but he didn’t mean that. No one does. They just say that to be polite. It's not...real.” She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together before looking back up. “I wonder if he prays for me? That sounds weird. Having the Burned Man pray for you. Never thought I’d see that happen.” She huffed out a breath, fogging up the window for a moment. She relaxed against the glass again, leaning on it. A genuine warm smile spread across her features as she pictured Joshua Graham praying for her under that beautiful inky black Zion sky. Shaking her head, she huffed out a laugh, a smile still on her face as she whispered, “I wonder if I’m still a profligate to him or not?” Chuckling to herself, she pulled away from the window and grabbed the letter, folding it up and placing it inside the envelope. She addressed it and vowed to mail it the next day. </p><p>     As she lay in bed that night in the darkness, she didn’t thrash or toss or turn for the first time in months. Instead, she dreamt of Zion. </p><p>
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